


Sometimes a Frog is Just a Frog (and Sometimes It's Not)

by Calacious



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Community: cottoncandy_bingo, Crack and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-20 02:55:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2412365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calacious/pseuds/Calacious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tig just wanted to sleep, but the frog - toad - something, wouldn't stop making noise. Too bad Juice is such a heavy sleeper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes a Frog is Just a Frog (and Sometimes It's Not)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gadhar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gadhar/gifts).



> Crack...and kind of a throwback to early Juice, back before all of the angst.
> 
> This does not follow standard grammatical conventions of writing (sometimes I like to break rules).
> 
> Feedback would be wonderful (please and thank you).

Ribbit

Ribbit

Ribbit

RRRRRRRIIIIIbit

Tig blinked at the frog, or maybe it was a toad, and tried to figure out where the fuck the damn thing had come from, and just how it had come to be sitting smack dab in the middle of his chest, croaking, er, ribbiting.

Did that make it a frog? The incessant ribbit, ribbit, ribbit, sound that it was making?

He shifted, attempting to move the toad/frog/whatever the fuck it was off of his chest, but the damn thing merely hunkered down and that's when Tig knew that he was dreaming, or that he was high as a proverbial kite.

Ribbit, ribbit, ribbit, ribbit...

"How the fuck do I get you to shut up?" he asked, snaking his arm from beneath the tangled sheets. He didn't relish the thought of touching the amphibian/reptile/motherfucker-ribbbiter-sitting-on-his-chest, but he didn't see any other options.

His hand hovered over the still ribbiting menace, shaking, though he would never admit that to any of the boys, because, seriously, a fucking toad/frog/whatever-the-fuck shouldn't make his hands shake. Shouldn't scare the ever-loving crap out of him.

"Hey, Juice," he called, his voice croaking in the predawn. He remembered leaving the bar in the wee hours of the morning, splitting the bill for a hotel room with the younger man. Toad/frog/motherfucker disposal would be just the job for the kid. Give him something to do, other than talking incessantly, or giving him that damn doe-eyed, puppy dog look.

"Juice!"

The frog/toad/fucking-monster crept closer to his face, ribbiting as though in answer to his summons. Tig held his breath as the damn thing finally stopped moving, inches from touching his chin, and stared, uttering excited little ribbits.

"Where the fuck are you?" Tig's voice dropped to a whisper, and he listened for the telltale sound of the shower, eyes darting toward the bathroom door, looking for light.

There was none.

No sound in the room, other than that of the ribbiting frog/toad/loud-motherfucker, and his own harsh breathing.

"Juice?" His voice cracked, and he swallowed, eyes growing wide as the toad/frog/fucking-ass-scary-as-all-fuck-bug-eyed-creature inched forward, and reached out a tiny webbed foot/hand and touched his chin.

"Argh!" Tig swiped at his face, hands shaking even more, but the frog/toad/fucking-menace was persistent, and before he fully registered the ribbiting thing's true intention, the fiend had crawled up his chin and was poised just beneath his bottom lip.

"No," Tig whispered, horror mounting, and he vowed, hastily, that he wouldn't drink and do a shitload of drugs ever again if the toad/frog/bug-eyed-beast would just go away.

He closed his eyes, opened them, and the thing had moved closer yet, its little webbed appendage was now touching his lip. He vowed to be good, _whatever the fuck that was_ , and to go on the straight and narrow, and a great deal many other things that were comprised of thoughts so fleeting that he couldn't even give words to them, so great was his fear.

His heart thundered in his chest, and he scrabbled to gain purchase on the sheets, his fingertips slipping on the rough fabric. He pursed his lips and tried to shake his head, but that little webbed hand/foot maintained its grip, and the frog/toad/fucking-monster seemed to grin as it ribbited in triumph.

And then the damn thing leaned forward, and how the fuck is that even possible? Tig wondered, in an almost off-handed fashion. The mad pounding of his heart belied the calm, matter-of-fact manner of his mind. It telegraphed the toad/frog/creature-from-the-black-lagoon's every move as though it was working in slow motion, though it wasn't. It was moving with rapid, purposeful precision, it's aim clear to Tig's befuddled and terrified mind, even as he tried to deny it.

Because, .way was that thing going to _kiss_ him. He wasn't some princess longing for a prince in any form - frog/toad/whatever. No siree. He was a grown man. A tough man. A man who'd killed other men, and where the fuck was his gun, his brother, when he needed them?

"Juice," his voice was hoarse, and barely audible above the damn ribbiting, because the thing hadn't once shut up since it had woken him. Why hadn't it woken Juice?

It just kept ribbiting and ribbiting and ribbiting, like a fucking alarm clock, and Tig looked toward the glowing thing, hoping that maybe that was it. That maybe his liquor-drug befuddled mind had conjured up a frog/toad/beast-from-the-inner-depths-of-hell in the stead of the annoying buzz of an alarm clock, but the thing blinked twelve, zero, zero at him in digital red.

Shouldn't surprise him that the power had gone out in this backward little town that sported spell-casting witches. He recalled, with no small horror, and a little sluggishly, that one of the so-called witches – a lovely, big-breasted, dark-haired beauty, reminded him of Gemma – had muttered some nonsensical thing at him and Juice when he'd suggested to her that they go into one of the backrooms and have a little horizontal fun. She'd grinned, her overly red lips thinning as they curled over her teeth, and then sashayed away, winking, and hooking her arm through that of her partner's, an equally endowed dark-skinned goddess.

He shivered at the recollection, remembering the almost electric shock that had coursed through his body when she'd uttered the non-words and then touched his and Juice's shoulders. It couldn't be true, what his mind was trying to tell him, so he refused to believe it. He closed his eyes.

He was dreaming. It was all a dream. A nightmare. The feeling of a webbed paw planted firmly on his bottom lip was nothing more than a figment of his imagination, the sound of ribbiting was nothing more than some wicked hallucination caused by the obscene amounts of alcohol and drugs that he'd consumed a few short hours ago, though he doesn't remember the drugs, just those otherworldly green eyes of the woman who'd cursed him for grabbing her ass and being a little too forward.

Back-ass-ward town. As soon as he woke up, or disentangled himself from the throes of this hallucination, he was putting as much road between himself and this place as he could. Juice and the stupid toad/frog/motherfucking-beast-of-doom, be damned.

The webbed fore-paw was surprisingly strong, and heavy with the full weight of the frog/toad/figment-of-imagination bearing down on Tig's bottom lip. He kept his eyes closed against the invasion of personal space, against the incessant ribbiting, and the intense vibration that the frog/toad/possible-prince-in-disguise's throaty sounds made against his chin.

He held his breath and tried to get his rapidly beating heart under control. No doubt, when Juice discovered him like this, trapped beneath a fucking toad/frog/stupid-acid-trip-without-the-pleasure-of-taking-acid, he would have a good laugh, provided that Juice woke up in time to witness this humiliating moment. Provided that there actually _was_ something to witness, and he wasn't, in fact, just lying there freaking out over nothing, but booze-induced hysteria.

Alcohol poisoning at its best. Frogs. Toads. Beady-eyed, fly-eating, wart-covered, ribbiting, menaces of society.

Rrrrrribbitt

The webbed claw shifted its weight, making Tig's lip dip, bruising it.

Ribbit. The onomatopoeia was almost plaintive in its tone. A sad double syllable.

It's all in my head, he chanted, willing himself to believe the lie, willing the uncomfortable pressure to go away and leave him in peace, willing Juice to wake up and wake _him_ up so they could get out of this nightmare of a town and shake the dust off their heels.

Wishful thinking aside, the frog/toad/monstrosity was heavier than it had looked, or maybe it was just where it had chosen to place itself on him that made it seem that way. It almost hurt, and Tig didn't even want to contemplate what that said about him as a man – that taking the full brunt of a toad/frog/nightmare on his bottom lip was making him tear up.

"Juice, goddamn you," Tig breathed out, hands searching out the queen-sized bed for the other man.

This had been the only room available. There was only the one bed, and they'd each fallen asleep on their respective sides, rolling to face away from each other. He was smack dab in the middle of the bed now, however the fuck that had happened without meeting up with Juice's back, he doesn't know. His hands met up with nothing but sheets and the scratchy material of the comforter that Tig was certain Juice had fallen asleep on top of just a few short hours ago.

"Did you fall off the fucking bed?" Tig asked; voice little more than a gruff whisper.

His mouth was dry, and he wanted to lick his lips, but there was the matter of the frog/toad/headache-inducing-ribbiter standing on his face, making the simple act impossible if he didn't want to be licking a toad/frog/whatsit. Wrong time, wrong place, wrong type of toad/frog/whatever.

"Juice, a little help here," he tried again, knowing that his words were falling on deaf ears, that the frog/toad/damn-fucking-scary-web-footed-thing, was going to continue tormenting him.

Juice would be too fucking late to help him, and Tig was going to make sure that the kid never forgot about just how much he'd let him down in his time of need for as long as he lived. Though he'd leave out the part about the threat to his life being a toad/frog/fly-killing-lip-sitting-nuisance. He had time to make up something far more believable, something that would make the kid feel really bad and guilty.

The little webbed foot shifted again and Tig drew in as deep a breath as he dared, inadvertently breathing in the scent of the _thing_ – whiskey and something overly sweet. It was strange and yet familiar and Tig did not want to even begin trying to process what it all meant. He just wanted the damn thing 'gone' from his lips.

Ribbit

_Definitely hallucinating_ , he thought, because that ribbit sounded like a question, like the frog/toad/fucking-lip-barnacle was asking him permission for something.

_No fucking way_ , was the answer that was on the tip of his tongue, but the damn thing took another step/hop and both of his lips were now being tamped down by the webbed hand/foot. There was a goddamn toad/frog/lip-hugger sitting on his mouth, and he opened his eyes to find the thing's belly or whatever the hell that bulging thing is called, filling up with air, or whatever the hell it filled up with, as it prepared to make another annoying ribbiting sound.

It was staring at him, bulging eyes beseeching, and sorrowful, too brown to belong to any kind of amphibian/reptile. Watching him with eyes that were far too _human_ to belong to something that hopped on webbed feet and hands, and that was a crazy thought, alcohol-befuddled mind or not.

Tig frowned and blinked at the creature, hoping it would disappear between the time he closed his eyes and opened them. No such luck. If anything, the frog/toad/creature-from-hell seemed to tilt its head in question, and Tig just wished that it would finish whatever the hell it was up to and hop along to torment someone else – like Juice, who, on the floor or not, was obviously sleeping soundly, oblivious to the torture that Tig was currently undergoing.

Ribbit?

_Oh fuck me now_ , Tig thought, because he was almost certain that the toad/frog/webbed-footed-menace had just asked him a question. A question that he had no answer for, because, while it had registered in his mind as a question with the way that it had _ribbited_ , he had no idea what the thing was actually trying to ask him. _If_ it was trying to ask him anything.

Clearly he was losing his mind. Not that he'd had much of a mind to lose to begin with, but hey, it was his mind, the only mind that he happened to have.

The frog/toad/possible-meat-eating-alien blinked, and made another questing ribbit. Eyes bugging out and oddly intense, it leaned forward, webbed foot/hand/small-torture-device pressing painfully into Tig's trapped lips.

Tig scowled and struggled to maintain the thin thread that he still had on his sanity, heart beating frantically as he tried to get his uncooperative limbs to start working, so he could rid himself of the impossibly heavy toad/frog/worst-hallucination-ever-in-the-history-of-hallucinations. He managed to wiggle his toes, but couldn't seem to move his arms, which felt leaden.

His own head felt disconnected from the rest of his body, and he couldn't help but think that maybe he should have kept his thoughts to himself when he'd met that blonde-haired witch. He knew that it was impossible, that she, with her quietly uttered words, couldn't have made all of this happen, and toward what end if she had?

His lips were frozen, the webbed foot keeping them firmly in place. The frenetic beating of his heart was giving him a headache, and he wished that Juice would wake the fuck up and get the damn thing off of his face so that he could breathe freely again.

The frog/toad/goddamn-face-sucker leaned closer; the tips of its slatted nostrils were millimeters from his lips. Tig's eyes grew wide, his heart skipped a beat and he held his breath until his lungs started to burn.

_This is not happening_ , he thought, timing the words to the beat of his heart. _Not happening. Juice, you motherfucker, wake the fuck up, or I'm going to kill you in your goddamn sleep._

If thoughts could kill, Juice would be dead, twice over. If he had the ability to kill with his mind, though, the toad/frog/fucking-face-demon would be the first to go.

It leaned impossibly closer.

ribbit

It was so quiet that Tig almost imagined he'd heard it, the pitiful little ribbit. Wished he'd been imagining the whole damn thing – that he was dreaming and would wake to find Juice sleeping soundly beside him – softly snoring, drool dangling from a corner of his open mouth. He'd snap a picture; send it off to Chibs and Bobby, hell maybe everyone.

_Time to wake up now_ , he thought, even as the frog/toad/hellish-nightmare pressed its rubbery lips – did toad/frog/banes-of-existence have lips? – to his.

He was struck by lightning. The room grew impossibly dark and cold and hot. His skin felt like it was on fire, his lips were melting off of his face, slipping from his mouth.

The earth collided with the sun and the moon and the stars and everything was spinning.

He couldn't think, couldn't breathe, his heart had stopped beating, and this was the beginning of an apocalypse. A zombie apocalypse led by a demonic frog/toad/swamp-thing-come-to-life.

This was the end of the world, and he was laid out, flat on his back, a toad/frog/zombified-apocalyptic-inducing-creature locked to his lips.

_At least the infernal ribbiting's finally stopped,_ he thought, blinking up at the ceiling which had finally stopped spinning, though it didn't make him feel any less dizzy. If anything, he felt dizzier, and the lips pressed to his felt a little less froggy/toady/fish-like, tasted a lot like whiskey and weed and something sickly sweet.

He shivered, though his skin still felt like it was on fire, and his lips felt like a liberal amount of kerosene had been poured over them and a lit match had been set to them. It _hurt_ , and yet he'd never felt this alive in _ever._

_Fuck, but the toad/frog/lip-locking-devil could kiss_.

The fire burned through his veins like an electrical current, and he felt it go from his lips down to the soles of his feet, shoot out through the tips of his fingers and toes, knew that if he touched a lamp or the TV, it would turn on. It was an out-of-body experience such as he'd never felt before, and he doubted he'd ever experience anything like this again.

Maybe he _was_ kissing one of those toads that gave people hallucinations. There was no doubt that what he was experiencing with the lip-locking frog/toad/trip-down-the-rabbit-hole was downright trippy.

He closed his eyes against the dizziness, stopped trying to fight whatever the fuck was going on. Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe he wasn't. Whatever was happening was going to happen, whether he was on board with it or not, so he might'se well stop trying to control it, and just let it happen.

_Being kissed by a fucking frog. Not a fainting princess here_ , Tig groused, but he kept perfectly still, waiting for the electricity to course its way through his body, the toad/frog/best-damn-kisser-ever to stop whatever it was doing and release him.

A heaviness settled over him, then, weighing him down, and the lips started to take a shape far less Kermit-like, and far more human-like. A jolt of electricity caused his back to arch, and he was certain that he'd just been struck by lightning a second time. It was painful, and yet it was the most exquisite pain that he'd ever experienced.

It felt like he was being sundered, limb from limb, as though the very cells of his body were being pulled from him, and yet he clung to the body – the body? – that had settled against his, dug his fingers into a fleshy ass, felt an erection – hard and vibrating – against his own, and they were rutting like animals. There was no thought involved, just need and two bodies primed for release.

He was Alice in Wonderland, the Princess who had kissed the frog, Cinderella, the Beauty, Miss Piggy, and Snow-fucking-White all rolled up in one. He didn't care if he _was_ the _princess_ in this scenario. It didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was the electricity pulsing through him and the frog/toad/whatever, and the need to become one with it. To plug into and tap into the source of the power surging through him, through the both of them.

All too soon – tongues and teeth gnashing, lips sucking, erections rubbing painfully against each other – it ended in a brilliant shock of light and out-of-control spasms that rocked, not only Tig and the frog-prince, but the bed.

Fuck, it had rocked the universe.

Out of breath and sticky from the aftermath, Tig opened his eyes, and blinked, stroked a finger down the shuddering back of his frog-prince.

"Juice?" he whispered, dumbfounded and yet strangely hopeful as something stirred in his heart. It was too bizarre for him to contemplate, so he didn't.

The boy smiled shyly, stifled a yawn and laid his head on Tig's chest, trailed his fingers through the fine, downy hair and nodded.

"That was you? You were the – "

"Frog," Juice supplied the word, voice subdued and a little croaky.

"Fuck," Tig said, _so it had been a frog_.

There was nothing else to say, not when he had his hands full of a naked, quaking Juice where once a frog had been. Not when he'd experienced, hands down, the best kiss he'd ever had in his life, followed by the most mind-blowing act of sex he'd had since he could remember.

No, there was nothing more to say, and he wasn't going to kill Juice in his sleep after all.


End file.
